


Bad Business Practices (And Probably - No, Definitely - No Murder)

by prosodiical



Category: Psych
Genre: Case Fic, Established Shawn/Juliet, Getting Together, Multi, Undercover as a Couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-20 01:39:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7385767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prosodiical/pseuds/prosodiical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shawn's got a case, and he needs Lassiter to play along. (Or: Juliet didn't mean to make it a challenge, but Shawn just can't help himself.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Business Practices (And Probably - No, Definitely - No Murder)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shinealightonme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinealightonme/gifts).



> I saw your prompts and just had to pick this up! This was my first time writing Psych fic, but it was a blast - I hope you like this!

In hindsight, Shawn blames everything on Juliet.

"Lassie!" Shawn exclaims, nearly skipping over to Lassiter's desk. He's already draping himself across the back of his chair but staggers back with an exaggerated, "Oof," when Lassiter spins it around with unnecessary force. "Hey, let's keep the violence to a careful negotiated minimum, okay?"

"Spencer, what do you want?" Lassiter glares.

"Lassie," Shawn says with false gravitas, "you're my only hope." Lassiter's expression is blank, and Shawn adds, "I need your help? I can't do this without you?" He's reminded of something, maybe a song, and tries to piece it out, fingers tapping against the desk. He scans the paperwork laid out while he's at it: pictures of horses and stern-faced men, all of it looking eminently boring.

"Spencer," Lassiter says, his tone dangerous, and Shawn snaps his fingers.

"Right!" he says, "I've got a case. I'm sensing," and he waggles his fingers at his temples, "that you're feeling a little, shall we say, innuendo? No, innocuous?"

"Ennui?" Lassiter offers, looking increasingly annoyed.

"I've heard it both ways," Shawn dismisses. "Anyway, the Chief's got you on desk duty for two weeks or something, right? But I," he says, leaning forward, "have a case."

"And what makes you think I'm even remotely interested in your," Lassiter says derisively, "'case'?"

"C'mon, Lassie, tell the Chief you're taking a holiday. A comfortable, pre-paid, delicious holiday full of home-grown delights. And did I say delicious?" Spencer waves tickets in front of Lassiter's face, snatching them back when Lassiter tries to grab for them. "Uh-uh, no touchy until you say yes. What'd you say?"

"What, is it a resort?" Lassiter scoffs. "What's the case?"

"Oh," Shawn says with relish, leaning forward and batting his eyelashes flirtatiously. "Didn't I say? It's murder."

He can see Lassiter think about it. Murder's a clear draw, as is the stack of paperwork on his desk and the not-entirely-hidden bruise on his shin where his work pants are riding up, not to mention the ultimatium Shawn heard yesterday from Jules: "Chief Vick's said he can't take any cases," she'd said, "he's going to be awful." Shawn says, now, "Come on, Lassie, do you really want to stay here?" and he grins when he sees the resignation finally resolve on Lassiter's face.

"Fine," Lassiter says, and Shawn presents the tickets to him with a flourish. 

"We," he says, "are going to - "

"A couples retreat?" Lassiter stares at the tickets, and then up at Shawn. Shawn's grinning, leaning back, hands in his pockets. "What the hell, Spencer - "

"Murder," Shawn sing-songs.

"Don't you have O'Hara for this - this - "

"Busy doing her 'actual job, I can't just drop everything all the time, Shawn'," Shawn says, raising his voice to a near-parody of Juliet's. He gives Lassiter a pointed look. "She's not the one who escaped the hospital to go to work."

"If you’re going to - "

"Calm down, Lassie." Shawn rocks back on his heels and sighs. "I have a case, you’re stuck doing the boringest of boring jobs until you're healed up - what can it hurt? It’s just a little undercover work." He raises his eyebrows and pouts hopefully. "I can’t go to a couple’s resort by myself!"

"What about Guster?" Lassiter says, but Shawn thinks he can see him start to relent.

"Busy," Shawn says, "and won’t tell me why, that traitor." He purses his mouth, squinting off balefully into the distance, and knows he's won when Lassiter pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs.

"Fine, Spencer, but none of your..."

"I'm hurt," Shawn says, a hand over his heart. "Lassie, I will be the best husbando you'd ever want. Wait, I think I've got something," and he scrounges in his pockets, pulling out a leftover Cheezel, orange dust coating his fingers. "See? I even brought a ring!"

"If you think I'm wearing that," Lassiter says dangerously, and Shawn dances out of the way of his swipe, grinning. "Don't make me regret this, Spencer."

"Oh," says Shawn, gleefully, "it'll end up being the most exciting thing that could happen to you this week, I promise."

 

 

It ends up being Lassiter who brings rings, ones that Shawn doesn't need psychic powers to see are from his failed marriage, so many years old by now. Lassiter still occasionally frowns down at the one on his hand like it's going to bite, and Shawn spends the trip down to the scene of the crime being told off for his feet on the dash, Lassiter throwing out his road-trip snacks like a man on a mission.

"But it's not a road trip without Twizzlers!" Shawn exclaims, watching them sail out the window, holding onto the handful he managed to save with both hands. "Lassie..."

"No food in the car," Lassiter says, "and this isn't a road trip."

"This isn't a road trip," Shawn mutters, mocking his tone. "I guess I didn't marry you for your friendliness."

"And why did you?" Lassiter asks, and Shawn scrambles upright to peer at him. Lassiter makes a disquieted face and says, "For our cover."

"Oh," says Shawn, "it's the manliness, you know. That grizzled cop demeanour, the three guns you keep stashed around the house at all times - "

"Eight," Lassiter says, and Shawn grins at him.

"Eight, then," Shawn says. "The way you always rush in to rescue me... I have a thing for that," he muses. "Between you and Jules... Not to mention," he adds, cheekily, "the sex is fantastic."

Lassiter chokes and shoots him a glare, but he's too busy watching to road to make it last. "Spencer..."

Shawn says breathily, "Oh, Lassie, the way you say my name," but stops as Lassiter's fingers twitch for his gun. Shawn decides to not poke the dragon and for the next twenty minutes, chews on the remainder of his Twizzlers and sings along to the radio at top volume until Lassiter lowers the windows, air rushing past his ears and carrying his voice away.

They end up pulling up to the front of the main entrance of the retreat an hour and a half after they left Santa Barbara, and Shawn hefts his duffle and tries to stand in the way as Lassiter scans the area, eyes narrowed. "This is the place?" he says, and Shawn nods.

"Yep, this is the one," he says. "I'll tell you what I've got once we get our cabin."

"Cabin," Lassiter repeats, sceptically, and starts looking around - Shawn quickly flails, arms going wild, his duffel falling to the dusty ground with a thump.

"I'm - I'm sensing," he says in as dramatic a voice he can muster, "that all will become clear! But we need to go in first." Shawn drapes himself over Lassiter's shoulders, whispers in his ear, "There are evil vibes here, I can sense it," and bites back his grin when Lassiter shoves him off.

"You're sensing a load of bullshit," Lassiter mutters, but he picks up his bag and starts walking toward the main building. Shawn has to resist the urge to cheer, but instead pulls a pen out of his pocket, holding the cap in his teeth as he scribbles a note out on an old receipt.

 _THIS IS NOT HIDDEN, GUS,_ he writes in all-caps, and takes a quick look around to check Lassiter, still striding with angry purpose toward the door. Shawn scurries over to the Blueberry parked barely behind a tree from the entrance, slides the note on the windshield, and shakes his head mournfully. "Is this what I have to deal with?" he says to himself, then grabs his duffel and runs for the entrance. "Hey, Lassie, wait up!"

The man at the reception is expecting them - or Shawn, at least. "Matty, my bro," Shawn says, interrupting Lassiter's terse, frowning stand-off, "everything's ready, yeah?"

"Shawn!" Matt exclaims. "Oh, and this is your partner?"

"Husband," Shawn says, feeling a little thrill at saying it. "And yep. Me and Lassie - Carlton - here just wanted to take a break, you know? He's been working so hard lately." Shawn leans his head on Lassiter's shoulder, wrapping an arm around his waist, and can feel him tense under his grip. Shawn smiles. "And, you know, you had such good reviews here!"

"It's so good to meet you," Matt gushes, and holds out a hand that Lassiter shakes, stiffly. "Shawn, we're so happy to have you both. I'll show you two to your cabin for the week, and here's a map of the place - it's not big, but we're expanding our petting zoo daily!" He rustles around the paperwork on the desk, and Shawn glances over expense reports and a newspaper before Matt finally finds the brochures.

"Petting zoo?" Lassiter says, under his breath, and Shawn nudges him. "Ah," he says, sounding uncomfortable, "thank you."

"Carlton here comes off standoffish," Shawn says, leaning forward conspiratorially, "but he's such a softie at heart."

"Oh, Eric's exactly like that, too," Matt says, smiling at Shawn. "He's out with the animals now, but you probably want to put your things away. Here, follow me."

He leads them out the back door, where the landscape opens up to wide fields and pastures, a stable off to one side. There's a smaller building adjoined to the stable - "You'll want to visit, of course," Matt says, and Shawn nods with enthusiasm - and a wooded grove that expands out to one side. In the quiet shade of the trees are a dozen cabins, wood-exterior but inside made up like a hotel room, towels on the bed and tiny soaps and shampoos and even a bottle of moisturizer in the bathroom.

"I'll leave you to it," Matt says with a smile, but Shawn's too busy rummaging in the bathroom cupboards.

"Ooh, Lassie, look - shaving cream! And conditioner! Do you think we get to keep the little comb?" He holds it, still encased in plastic, up assessingly next to his hair.

"Spencer," Lassiter says darkly, "this doesn't look like a murder scene."

Shawn says, "Oh, hm, well," and backs further into the bathroom as Lassiter stalks toward him, glaring. "Ack, Lassie, not the hair - fine - " and he quickly relinquishes the comb and tiny hotel bottles, hands raised in a protest of innocence as he continues backing up into the benchtop. "It's - there was a death? Maybe? Perhaps not precisely a murder - okay, maybe more of a kidnapping, it could be a murder if you squint - "

Lassiter, looming over him, says, "Is there even a case here, Spencer?"

"Yes!" Shawn says. "They're running a - a racquet! Innocent creatures are disappearing through mysterious means!"

"Creatures," Lassiter says, flatly, and Shawn winces.

"There," he says, "might have been a bunny? Lassie," he whines, as Lassiter's hands slam down on the bench on either side of him, and Shawn glances down apprehensively to where the line of Lassiter's gun holster is ruining his suit. "It's still a case," Shawn tries to argue, looking back up to the angry flush rising on Lassiter's face, "and, may I add - "

"Spencer," Lassiter says, his voice quiet and dangerous, "shut up."

Shawn looks at him; the blood-pink of his cheeks, the dilation of his dark pupils in his startlingly blue eyes, and suddenly realises how close they are, barely a breath away. _I knew it_ , he thinks triumphantly, and can feel the corners of his mouth turning up in a smile. "Lassie," he wheedles, his voice breathy, "tell me you're thinking what I'm thinking."

"I," Lassiter starts, and his eyebrows pull together, a little furrow between them. "Spencer, what are you - " but he suddenly seems to come back to himself, a whole-body jerk and a good few steps backward. "I don't know what the hell you're playing at, Spencer," Lassiter growls, and Shawn pulls a disappointed face.

"This isn't about Jules, is it?" Shawn says, "Because - "

"O'Hara," Lassiter says, and shakes his head. "I'm not going to be party to this - this - " and he turns on his heel and storms out, a whirl of armed and righteous fury. Shawn, bemused, watches him go, but remembers:

"Hey, but I needed to tell you something! Jules is... here," he finishes, trailing off.

The cabin door slams open, loud enough to echo, and Shawn trails in Lassiter's wake, low-key annoyance starting to make him frown as he hears from the shared courtyard: "Guster?"

"Detective Lassiter?"

And that's Gus's voice, sounding stunned. Shawn picks up the pace and manages to grab Lassiter by the suspenders, wrapping himself around the man like a limpet to stop him from reaching his gun. "Argh - get off me, Spencer!"

"Maybe everybody should calm down," Shawn suggests. "Calm... calm..."

"I'm calm!" Gus says, not sounding particularly calm. "Shawn, what is going on? Why am I here with - and what are you even - "

"Shawn, what are you doing?" Shawn looks with relief to Juliet, stepping out of the neighbouring cabin, looking absolutely stunning with her hair down and in the dress she picked out for the night - Shawn could feel Lassiter pause in startled confusion, too. "Wait..."

"Jules," Shawn says, with a dawning realisation, "didn't you tell Gus?"

"I thought you did?" she says, looking between them. "God, Shawn, don't - Carlton, I'm not sure what he told you, I'm sorry - "

"What in the seven hells is going on here?" Lassiter crosses his arms as Juliet pulls Shawn away, and Shawn nudges her, glancing pointedly at Lassiter's gun. "Stop it already, Spencer, I'm not going to shoot you. As much as I may want to."

"Well," says Shawn, feeling disconcerted, "good. Wait, so, Jules, you didn't tell Gus?"

"You're his best friend!" Juliet says, waving her arms for emphasis. "Why didn't you tell him? And why is Carlton here?"

"Jules!" Shawn exclaims. "You were the one who said, what, like two days ago, 'you'll never get Carlton to agree to it' - "

"That wasn't a challenge, Shawn!"

"I said 'challenge accepted'! That means it was a challenge!" Shawn looks to Gus and Lassiter staring at them, looking confused and increasingly frustrated respectively, and says, "Back me up on this, Gus?"

"Shawn," Gus says, slowly, "what were you going to tell me?"

"Uh," says Shawn. He looks around, to Juliet with her arms crossed over her chest, her expression implacable, to Gus's too-thoughtful frown. "That's... not important right now. What is important is," and he brings his fingers to his temples, waggling them, "the case!"

"You just said there wasn't a case, Spencer," Lassiter retorts.

"I never said that!" Shawn exclaims. "Maybe it's a little less exciting than I made it out to be, but there's something shady going on, and we need to investigate it. Gus, remember that guy who came in - "

Gus's expression dawns realisation. "Oh, about the misappropriated petting zoo they think is a scam to steal people's pets and replace them with convincing-looking fakes?"

"Yes!" Shawn says. He holds out his hand for a fistbump, but Gus says:

"Shawn, that man thought his pet rabbit had been replaced by an alien clone. Real aliens would never have been so careless."

"Potayto, potahto," Shawn says, waving a hand. "The rabbit wasn't the original, and we're here now, isn't that what counts? And the client paid for everything! So think of it as a holiday, with a petting zoo and organic food and all the pineapples anyone could ever want."

"There are no pineapples here," Lassiter says, scowling. "And why all this subterfuge, Spencer?"

Spawn glances at Juliet for help, sticking out his lower lip and trying to make his eyes larger, and she rubs her hand over her face and sighs. "Shawn," she says, and Shawn tilts his head to the surrounding trees. "Okay, okay," she says, "I am really sorry about this, Carlton."

"O'Hara," Lassiter says, eyebrows furrowing, and Shawn grabs Juliet's arm as she leads them both away from the central clearing, far enough to not be heard; Shawn can hear Gus's voice, indistinct, start up behind them. "Shawn, what are you doing?"

"I thought you wanted this!" Shawn whispers, and gestures to them and back toward the cabins. "I mean, it's fine with Gus, but as soon as I bring Lassie it's bust?"

"Just because I like Carlton doesn't mean he likes me! Or you, for that matter," Juliet huffs, arms crossed. "And Carlton and relationships..."

"He likes you," Shawn points out, "and he and I could have some hatesex thing going - "

"That doesn't make a relationship, Shawn," Juliet sighs. "Why did you bring him? Just because I said he wouldn't be interested doesn't mean I am - it was all just... a joke."

Shawn pauses and studies her, the mulish set to her mouth and the creases around her eyes, stress and worry and resignation, and he feels a tug in his own heart, too. "Jules," he says, gently, "you did mean it. You like him - and that's fine, I do too! - and he's probably halfway in love with you, you should've seen his face when you walked out."

"I did," Juliet says, a wry smile tugging at her mouth, and Shawn leans forward to push a strand of her hair behind her ear.

"You could do worse," Shawn says, and Juliet huffs a laugh, her smile growing. "C'mon, let me try him while we're here, and we'll see if it works. What's the worst it could do? You'll still be partners, whatever happens." He nudges her, and she leans forward, pressing her smile against his cheek. "I'll work on Lassie, you tell Gus."

"Fine," Jules sighs, after a long moment. "Just don't - lie to him, okay? He hates that."

"Oh, are we swapping tips now?" Shawn says. "Because I know everything about what my favourite chocolate muffin Gus is into - " and he cuts off, laughing, as Juliet shoves him away. "Okay, okay, be gentle!"

"At least Burton treats me right," Juliet says, sticking her nose in the air as she stalks away, and Shawn chases after her.

"Burton? No one calls him that - you can't just - " and she laughs.

 

 

Lassiter's sitting on the king-sized bed in their cabin when Shawn returns, cleaning his gun. "Spencer," he says, neutrally for Lassiter, and Shawn closes the door behind himself and fiddles with the decorative lamp on the side table. "I want answers."

"Right," Shawn says, and heaves a sigh. "Right. Well. We've known each other for ages, Lassie, and you're Jules's partner - and her friend. I mean, I was just hoping we'd be able to - "

"Stop." Lassiter's studying him, eyes narrowed. "Do you think I'm an idiot, Spencer? You've been flirting with me, don't deny it."

Shawn, halfway to opening his mouth, shuts it. "I wanted to be more friendly!" he says, entirely truthfully. "Lassie, I'm always flirting with you."

"And what is this with you and O'Hara?" Lassiter continues, rising to his feet. Shawn backs up a little, into the narrow corridor between the wall and the bed, and can almost hear his father's reprimanding voice echoing in his head. "She knows, does she?"

"You don't think I'd do anything without Jules's permission, do you?" Shawn holds his hands up, trying to ward him off. "She has a gun. And she's very good at using it."

"Spencer," Lassiter says, looming, "You better not being doing anything that will hurt her."

"Oh!" Shawn says, startled, "Of course not. Jules is totally on board, on ship, on..." Backing up further will lead to nowhere, and Shawn makes a split-second decision to dive for the bed. "Not that the growly thing isn't hot, unfairly hot, may I say, but maybe you could tone it down - " Lassiter's followed him, lanky and predatory, and Shawn gulps. "Uh."

"It you don't shut up," Lassiter says with a gleam in his eyes, "I'll make you," and Shawn stares up at him, a little afraid and a lot turned on, and says:

"That sounds like a challenge, Lassie. Totally unfair, you know, I can't resist a challenge - " 

Lassiter proves he can shut Shawn up, which Shawn just knows will be held over his head later, but he has far better things to occupy his attention in the meantime. At least they got to take advantage of the bed, sinfully plush, and after when Lassiter tries to pull away Shawn clings to him, amused at the way Lassiter stiffens and then, reluctantly, sighs. "Jules is going to love you," Shawn says, smirking, and Lassiter freezes and scowls.

"Oh, because of course this couldn't be easy," he mutters under his breath, loud enough for Shawn to hear. Shawn pulls himself up and winks at him.

"Lassie," he says, and considers, "Carlton? No, that's weird. Lassie, I'm a psychic detective, you have a bad habit of falling for your work partners, and Jules definitely has a thing for older men."

"You're not a psychic, Spencer," Lassiter counters. "Are you trying to say we're all mad here?"

"Well," Shawn drawls out, "I'm sensing someone's going to be mad when I say we've got a petting zoo appointment in - ten minutes?"

"You're sensing," Lassiter starts, and Shawn quickly pulls away and out of the bed, pulling on discarded clothing with the speed of a man on a mission as realization dawns on Lassiter's face. "Ten minutes? Spencer!"

"You know," Shawn says quickly, "I'm pretty sure by now you can call me Shawn!"

They end up making it on time, if barely; Shawn's hair isn't quite as pristine as he likes it and when Juliet spots them, she gives Shawn an incredulous look. "Already?" she hisses, under her breath. "Seriously?"

"Lassie's a beast once you get under his skin," Shawn whispers back, winking at Lassiter, who crosses his arms and glowers. "How did Gus go?"

Gus is lurking, consternation on his face when he glances between Shawn and Lassiter, and butts in. "Gus," he says pointedly, "is right here. And Lassiter, really?"

"Gus, don't be the last chocolate chip cookie in the jar, he's a sexy, sexy man. And my husband." Shawn lifts his hand, showing off his ring, and nudges him. "No?"

Gus studies the ring, then Lassiter with a critical eye. "Well, I suppose he cleans up well. But Shawn," he adds, "he murdered somebody!"

"We proved he didn't, remember? And if we're counting accidents - "

"Don't bring that up again, Shawn!"

Someone clears their throat, and Shawn awkwardly waves at the man suddenly in front of the gate. "You all know each other?" he says, sounding surprised. "I'm Eric. You're here for the tour?"

"And the petting zoo," Gus says, and Shawn meets his fistbump. "You know that's right."

"Boys," Juliet says, and Gus gives Shawn a narrow look as he takes Juliet's arm and starts following Eric out to the pastures. Shawn ambles back to Lassiter as they follow Eric around, not sure if he should chance an arm-link or a hand hold; Lassiter shoves his hands further in his pockets and Shawn decides on later.

"He looks nervous, huh?" Shawn comments, quietly. The first stop is the stables, pretty, well-groomed horses lined up in rows, but it still smells like a stable, and Gus is wrinkling his nose. Eric introduces them by name, one by one, and Shawn squints thoughtfully at one in the back row.

"What, are you sensing something?" Lassiter says, sounding sarcastic. "Psychic vibrations, maybe?"

"Just a feeling," Shawn says. "But no. He's twitchy - not much, but around the eyes, and he's swallowing more than average." He shrugs, putting his hands in his pockets as Eric closes and locks the stable door.

Eric is finishing, " - and we're even used for stabling top-quality racehorses," as Shawn moves a little closer, beside Gus and Juliet listening attentively. "But I'm sure you're waiting for the main attraction."

The petting zoo must have been set up beforehand, rabbits nosing at grass and a small goat munching on an overhanging branch, a few small lambs who walk up to them on curious, unsteady legs. Gus makes for the bunnies immediately, dragging Juliet along, but Shawn hangs back a little as Eric closes the gate, his tight showman's smile almost curious. "These are also stabled pets, right? Like a - pet daycare?"

"Y-yeah," Eric says. "We keep some pets, too. But these are all ours."

"Ah," says Shawn. "You don't like working here, do you?"

Eric stalls. "Who are you, again?"

"Oh, didn't Matty mention me?" Shawn grins. "Shawn Spencer, psychic detective." He holds out his hand and Eric takes it, palm clammy against Shawn's own. "I'm getting some negative vibrations from you." Because it's obvious, with Eric's designer clothes and manicured nails, the cologne that clings to him not enough to cover the smell of a man working outside with animals. "You're just doing this for him?"

Erics shifts, uncomfortably. "Well, just until we have enough to move to the city." He sighs. "Matt's just loves it here, cooking and cleaning and managing - it's only the outdoors parts that he hates."

The pieces are falling into place, and Shawn glances around to his audience, mostly absorbed by adorable, fluffy animals. Shawn regrets not petting them before the reveal, but duty calls. "I'm - I'm getting something!" he yells, very loudly, and staggers backwards from Eric, far enough to put him in decent range of Lassiter and Jules. "You - it was you!"

"I - I didn't do anything!"

"You're selling off people's beloved pets, purebred with lineages going back generations - " Shawn remembers the photos their client had shown them, a cute little bunny and a pile of papers, "and replacing them with similar-looking mutts! All of these," he says, waving down at them, "they're rejects, aren't they? You bought them, and then realised they didn't look close enough to the original!"

"That's awful!" Gus announces, and Shawn gives him an appreciative nod.

"But that's not all!" Shawn exclaims, remembering the accounts in the reception room, the numbers that didn't add up. "There's also - the horses you keep in the stables! Racing horses, you say, but there's a lot of money in racing horses. If you sell those off, well..." 

"Wait," Lassiter interjects, "you're the reason there's been an inquiry into horse bloodlines and breeding?" His mouth wrinkles. "And I thought I left that back at the office."

"I - " Eric stumbles backwards, pressing against the fence, and Shawn really should have noticed that hoe. "I had to do it! Our business - we'll never save up enough to get out of this shithole! I hate it here!" He hefts the hoe in his hands, and Shawn winces a little sympathetically. "I won't let you get away!"

"Eric, Eric," Shawn says, "don't be hasty, just drop the weapon and put your hands up slowly," and he takes a few steps backward, letting Juliet and Lassiter flank him with their guns drawn. "This doesn't need to get messy."

Eric, outnumbered and outgunned, stares at them in bewilderment. "What's going on?" he says, sounding lost. "Your boyfriend's a cop?"

"Husband," Lassiter says, and then apparently realises and winces, shaking his head at Shawn's thumbs-up. 

Rummaging with one hand in her purse, Juliet lets out a soft 'aha' and pulls out a pair of handcuffs. "You keep those on you?" Lassiter asks, sounding impressed, and Juliet smiles at him.

"Always be prepared, right?" She handcuffs Eric while reading him his rights, and Shawn retreats to Gus, holding a bunny protectively against his chest.

"Another case solved," Shawn says, triumphant, and reaches out, touching the bunny's soft fur. "Go team."

"Shawn," Gus says, "you couldn't wait until the end of the week to solve it? You know this means our vacation is over, right?"

Matt's finally heard the commotion and run over, tears running down his red, blotchy face as Lassiter stonewalls him and Juliet tries for reassurance, and Shawn winces and sighs. "Man," he said, "we didn't even get dinner."

"This is all your fault, Shawn," Gus says, but tilts his head, a little thoughtful. "Though, I think I get what you see in them. There's something nice about having your friends be cops who can rush to your aid, huh?"

"You know that's right," Shawn says, grinning, and Gus bumps his fist. "Don't worry, I'm sure you'll have enough time to win them over."

"I've already won over Juliet," Gus says, preening. "I've got the moves, you know."

"Oh, and what moves were those? The yawn and stretch? The Pluto pickup line?"

"Those are classics, Shawn! You can't insult the classics!"

"Definitely Pluto," Juliet says, approaching them. Lassiter's with her, but he's still glancing over occasionally at Matt holding Eric's handcuffed hands in his own, tearfully conversing. "And Gus and I can set up our own dates."

"A date?" Shawn scoffs. "Really? We're going with dates?" He latches onto Lassiter's arm when he's close enough to reach, batting his eyelashes up at him. "This was a date, right?"

"Shawn, uncovering illegal activity is not a date," Gus says.

Lassiter, true to form, looks thoughtful. "I'm with Shawn - Spencer on this one," he says, and Shawn gapes at him, delighted.

"Shawn!" he says, "You called me Shawn! Jules, Jules, did you hear?"

"Don't get used to it," Lassiter grumbles, and Juliet laughs, smiling up at Lassiter in a way that makes Lassiter, bemused, smile back. Shawn presses a hand over his heart.

"You, don't start," Juliet says threateningly, poking him. "And I think we should go on a date - I don't care if this one counts, Shawn. All of us."

"Well," Shawn says, "I guess I can deal with that."

"After this is sorted, of course," Juliet continues. "Carlton, we'll go in your car?"

"Got it, O'Hara," Lassiter says. "Let's get this swindler to jail."

Shawn watches them walk off into the sunset, Eric in handcuffs following despondently along, and his stomach growls. "I really should have waited until after dinner."

"You do remember," Gus says, "that Juliet and I have been here since last night? It was delicious, by the way - the reviews were completely accurate. It might have even been better."

"What?" Shawn runs after him as Gus starts striding back toward their cabins. "You traitor, Gus! At least tell me you saved some leftovers? Gus!"


End file.
